


say something (i'm giving up on you)

by Aria_Cinabun



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Based on the 3/1 Tommy Stream, Character Death, Crying, Hurt No Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29788203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Cinabun/pseuds/Aria_Cinabun
Summary: And so it ends.Just.Like.That.A candle in the darkness, and Tubbo's light is blown out as Dream makes his move.Spoilers for the 3/1 streams!
Relationships: Tubbo & Tommyinnit
Comments: 53
Kudos: 333
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	say something (i'm giving up on you)

The snow is heavy under his footsteps as he makes his way through the swirling blizzard, hardly noticing the chill and dampness that soaks its way through his thin shirt and flimsy boots.

This—this is the end of a lifetime. 

Tubbo wishes this was his end, but it is not, and so he must endure the brutal cold for some inkling of a feeling. Anything—anything is better than the truth.

He pauses outside the cabin, noting the laughter that escapes from under the door crack. The light from the window—

_What are you doing?_ he asks himself, and he tucks his hands under his armpits, and he wants to go back to yesterday.

No, not yesterday. He wants to go back to before Wilbur died, to before L'manburg fell apart at his fingertips like the flakes that landed on his palms.

He sits under the eaves on the stairway of Technoblade's cabin, and he laughs bitterly, tears streaming down his face. He remembers the face of the creeper-hybrid, and he remembers _laughing_ at what could not possibly be the truth.

He remembers holding a broken body in his arms as he screams, as he fights the madness that Wilbur was once compelled to fall under—as he fights not to grab Sam's sword and kill the stonefaced green man that stands in the corner, petting a cat. He remembers whispering words to blue eyes that would never answer back; he remembers clinging to the body of his best friend as Sam carried him into the sunlight that Tommy would _never see again_.

Tubbo sits on the cold steps and cries as he laughs.

He remembers the coolness of the grass as Puffy rushes over, her eyes wide, and she kneels down next to him, hugging him with a warmth that would never be real—for how could he live in a world that a blonde-haired boy would no longer walk the Prime Path? How could he live in a world where there would be no more quips, no more jokes, no more shouts of encouragement?

How could he live when both of his leaders are dead?

Sam stands there, and Tubbo can see the tears on his face as Puffy holds him, his fellow ram-hybrid sobbing, her tears soaking into his hair.

No more sitting on the benches, staring at the sunset. No more discs. No more music, no more jukeboxes—no more Tommy. 

His best friend is dead, and all Tubbo can do is laugh.

He thinks he is dying in the cold, and he cannot bring himself to care. 

Tommy is dead, and Dream killed him—after everything. After everything Tommy had fought for—after Tubbo had finally earned forgiveness he should never have gotten. 

The tears freeze as they fall, but Tubbo cannot bring himself to care.

The door opens behind him, and he turns his stiff neck to stare into the eyes of Ranboo—one red, one green.

Red, like Tommy's shirt. Red, like the disk that he had given up so that Tubbo could _live_. Red, like chirp and like the dusk and like the color his hotel.

Red, the color of the blood upon the obsidian as Tubbo falls screaming to his knees at the sight of his best friend.

Green, like the bandana around his throat. Green, like the color of his braces before he'd gotten them off. Green, like the grass on Tommy's house—green, like the color of liveliness and grace and life itself.

Red and green. 

Tommy and Tubbo.

"Are you...okay?" Ranboo asks, his eyebrow twitching. He's never been one for eloquence, and Tubbo chokes on his tears again. "Oh my God, you must be freezing."

He does not know—he is cold inside and out and he feels like his heart is about to shatter into a million tiny pieces. He feels Ranboo's arm upon his and he clings to the warmth and he sobs his heart out as he is taken into the cabin.

"Uh..." 

And that's Technoblade, and Tubbo squeezes his eyes shut and wishes he were gone and buried so he wouldn't have to fulfill this horrible task that the world has graced him to give. Puffy and Sam are supposed to be here, but he doesn't want them here—he doesn't want their strength when he feels so weak. Techno is looking at him through wary eyelids, his piglin ears twitching slightly.

It's not to Technoblade and Philza—Philza sits in the corner with his bucket hat and Tubbo wonders if he genuinely cares—that he comes for but to Ranboo. Ranboo, who visited Tommy in exile when Tubbo did not—Ranboo, who picked up some of Tommy's pieces before he fell. 

"Hey, hey," Ranboo says placatingly, a hand on his back as Tubbo gets his salty tears all over the front of his suit. He cries harder as he remembers that Tommy's suit looks like this, and he would never see it again because it is torn to bits in front of some explosion-ridden hole at the ruins of Logsteadshire. "Are you okay?"

"Mate, he doesn't _look_ okay," Phil replies warily.

And Tubbo _laughs_ because that is the most sensible thing that Tommy's father has said in the months he's known him. Tubbo laughs with tears pouring down his face and all but collapses in Ranboo's arms, the Enderman-hybrid letting out a small noise as he deals with Tubbo's weight all in one go, with no warning.

No warning—

—and the lava clears, and a masked man sits over the prone body of his dead friend and Tubbo is screaming and Sam is shouting, running, and he is feeling for a heartbeat and there is _nothing_ —

No warning at all. 

"I think he's in shock," Ranboo says, and he sounds so far away, because this is a _dream_ , and it cannot be real _life_ , because Tommy is his best friend and he was meant to die many decades in the future—and not like this.

They should have had years together and Tubbo looks back and sees pain and regret and hurt and so few moments of laughter. Tubbo looks back and he sees himself shouting at Tommy and he thinks that this is _his_ fault, that if he hadn't exiled Tommy that Tommy would never have visited Dream in prison and he wouldn't have gotten trapped and died. 

He wouldn't have been suffocated to death by his enemy. 

_Their_ enemy.

"I think he's happy," Tubbo chokes out, and confusion reigns heavily in the cabin but Tubbo doesn't _care_ , because he knows that Tommy is in a better place—with Wilbur, the only one that treated him well, until the end. "Do you think he's happy?"

"What?" Ranboo asks, frowning. "Who?"

He thinks about it for a moment, and then laughs, wiping away his tears. "Tommy. Do you think he's happy?"

"I mean—um." Ranboo looks at Techno and Phil, who looks confused. Phil has that _I-killed-Wilbur-because-he-was-crazy_ expression on his face, but Tubbo couldn't care less if lightning struck him and he turned to ash because his best friend is _dead_. "He...seemed happy?"

"Good, that's good," Tubbo giggles. 

"I think Tubbo's having a psychotic arc," Technoblade grumbles.

"Tubbo, mate, you good?" Phil asks carefully, and Tubbo cannot meet his eyes because they are _Tommy's_ eyes, and that is Tommy's blonde hair, and maybe Tommy would have looked like that—

—had he lived to see his thirty-third birthday.

"Happy birthday," he chokes out, remembering why Ranboo is here and not at the DreamSMP. "Sorry I didn't get you anything." 

"Um...that's fine," Phil says. "Did you—did you come out all the way here to wish me a happy birthday?" His eyes are careful, calculating.

Techno snorts, leaning forward. "'Course not," he grunts. "Tommy probably wants something."

Tubbo lets out a small whimper at the name, and Ranboo drops him, and he falls to the ground, hands grasping at the splintering floor, cuticles cut by the spruce wood, but he _doesn't care_ , because Tommy will never want anything again.

Ranboo kneels by his prone body and looks worried. 

The door bangs open, and Techno has his sword out and pointed at Sam and Puffy, who stands there in actual snow coats with red puffy eyes and solemn expressions.

"Oh my goodness," Puffy sighs, leaning against the doorframe, the cold seeping in behind her white locks, the largest look of relief on her pale face. "I thought—Tubbo, we thought you'd run off and..." she trails off.

"Died," Sam says gruffly.

"Shut the fucking door," Phil says, and Tubbo laughs again because that sounds like something Tommy would _say_ , complete with the swears and the rudeness. 

Perhaps he would have said it with some form of feeling had he survived. Had they moved in together, as they had planned. 

"Why would Tubbo be dead?" Ranboo asks carefully.

"Excuse me, but does the entire ensemble know where I live?" Techno asks rudely.

Puffy and Sam ignore him. "So," Puffy breathes out. "He hasn't told you."

"He's just laughing maniacally," Phil says in a way of explanation. "We haven't gotten a real coherent reason why he's here with no snow gear laughing his ass off every time I say something." Phil pauses. "Oh, and crying."

" _I_ want to know why you think Tubbo could have been dead," Ranboo says.

"Sati," Sam says bluntly, and the cabin goes silent. "But...between friends."

"I wish," Tubbo breathes out, and then he laughs again as he shakes his head, his hair falling over his eyes. "At least I would get to see him again." 

"I don't know what that word means," Phil says.

"Suicide," Techno says, his usual sarcastic and condescending tone gone. "It's an old tradition in which a widow killed herself after the death of her husband."

Tubbo scream-laughs again, his head hitting the planks of the floor. "Oh my God, that sucks." He feels like he's drowning in endless tears; drowning in an abyss of denial and rage and laughter and _hate_. "That really sucks."

"Shh, sweetling," Puffy murmurs, bringing him up so he can curl against her chest. "Everything's gonna be okay."

"I'm still extremely confused," Ranboo announces, but Tubbo meets Techno's red eyes and _knows_ the Piglin-hybrid suspects the truth. 

"He's dead," he sings out when Sam stands in the doorway clutching his sword and does not answer and Puffy murmurs sweet nothings as tears fall down her face once more. "Dead, dead, dead."

_"_ _Who?"_ Ranboo asks.

"Tommy," Tubbo says.

And that is that. 

And Ranboo stares at him, shocked as Tubbo begins to sob, remembering the listless body of the one person that had given him forgiveness when he did _nothing_.

_I'm sorry_ , he thinks, in between the mix of maniacal laughter and tears. _I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you in time._

And then Ranboo laughs in disbelief as well and Puffy releases him so the two youngest members on the server— _oh my God, Tubbo's the youngest now_ —can cling to each other, their tears mixing on a puddle on the floor. 

The candles on Phil's cake burn out as Tommy's father has the _audacity_ to look slightly sorrowful and Techno just stares and stares. Tubbo does not know if they care, and he doesn't care if they care, because he is here for the person that picked up the pieces during Tommy's exile, and he wishes that he had told Ranboo and left Philza and Technoblade to _rot_. 

"I'm gonna kill him," he sobs. "I'm gonna kill Dream."

"Good," Ranboo whispers back, his voice low and horrified and thick with tears. "You do that."

Red and green—Tommy and Tubbo.

Red, like blood. Green, like grass.

A pile of red lying on green and no going back.

Blue eyes staring at a sun that he will never see again.

Loss and love and family and _hate_ and anger and _laughter_.

"I would have followed you," he whispers, to nobody at all. "Anywhere." 

There is no response because Tommy is dead.

"Congrats, Phil," Sam says distantly, with no emotion at all. "Two-thirds of your sons are dead. That's a failing grade, you know."

Phil does not respond, and the candles burn out one by one—puffs of life that were never meant to be.

Burning flames that flickering and die in the hubbub of the cabin as two boys sit and cry, as a woman with white hair sobs into her arm, and as a father—or perhaps two—stand in stony silence, waiting for the reality of the world to hit.

His candle is gone, and Tubbo wants to _burn_.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I don't usually write this but I was inspired.


End file.
